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From the vortex of the driver’s seat, up to 5000 rpm or so, the 302-cubic-inch V-8 discharges an appalling racket, akin to locking Clay Matthews inside a garbage dumpster with a Chicago Bears foam finger. Then it gets really noisy. Nearing the engine’s 7500-rpm limiter, the entire car — a 1969 Camaro Z/28 from the original Trans-Am race series of four-plus decades ago — quakes and shudders and boils with the relentless shock waves of exploding racing gas and hammering drivetrain metal. Inside my helmet, my eardrums are doing the duck and cover. My liver feels like roadkill.

Now I’m at the top of third gear on the main straight of the Streets of Willow circuit in Rosamond, California, moving along rather briskly indeed, and a small detail has suddenly become pressingly obvious: It’s time to brake. I make my customary forceful squeeze on the center pedal and…nothing happens. My brain sounds the alarm. “Right foot! More pedal! Now!” Said foot obliges with additional pressure, yet still I’m sailing along — right for Santa Monica. Brain again: “Every man for himself!” My right foot slams the brake pedal flat to the floor and — finally, barely, agonizingly — the Camaro begins to slow. Sort of. No problem: I’ll simply turn in, let the tires shoulder the speed as lateral load. Except…what the — ?! The big, unassisted steering wheel responds as willingly as the escape hatch on a rusty U-boat. Finally, I manage to wind in some right lock, but the Camaro’s front end is still heading left of Nancy Pelosi. All together now! Heave! And with a mighty grunt from me and a reluctant lurch of the chassis, at last the Camaro more or less rolls onto the path I’ve requested.

Ten laps later, I pull into the pits and switch off the eight-cylinder jackhammer. Shattering silence. My Nomex suit is drenched in sweat, my chest and arms throb with a Rorschach test of bruises, and I’ve still got more lapping sessions to go. But already one thing is abundantly clear: Hurling a vintage Trans-Am car around a racetrack at speed is as invigorating as trying to ride an angry water buffalo through a sewer pipe.

That sound! Never mind if my eardrums should be rushed to the ER. You can hear this car with your hair.

Rewind to March 25, 1966. Florida’s Sebring International Raceway. On the card is the Sports Car Club of America’s inaugural Trans-American Sedan Championship race. Forty-four cars start, but the crowd roars for only seven of them — the big V-8 entries in the Over 2.0-liter class (which also includes some six-cylinder cars), led by pole-sitter A.J. Foyt’s Ford Mustang. Four hours later, at the fall of the checkered flag, six of the V-8 cars have dropped out. The overall winner, in an Under 2.0-liter Alfa Romeo GTA, is a gifted young Austrian named Jochen Rindt. (Four years later, he will become Formula 1’s only posthumous world champion.) But it’s the race’ssole surviving V-8 entry, Bob Tullius in a Dodge Dart, who wins the Over 2.0-liter class and sets the crowd’s collective heart afire.

It’s easy to appreciate the bias. Here were big, production-based American cars instantly recognizable as track versions of their beloved, street-bound ponycar counterparts. SCCA president John Bishop had created Trans-Am as a pure manufacturer’s championship (drivers wouldn’t vie for points until 1972), a series specifically designed to draw in the Big Three makers and their crowd-wowing iron. And after Bishop built it, they did come. By the early 1970s, Trans-Am fields included Boss 302 Mustangs, Chevy Camaro Z/28s, AMC Javelins, Dodge Challenger T/As, Plymouth AAR ‘Cudas, and, yes, Pontiac Trans Ams.

The track action was close, brutal, fender-to-fender stuff — some of the fiercest, most unforgettable American racing ever. (No wonder Trans-Am circa 1966-1972 is considered the Golden Era.) Even more stirring than the cars was the driving talent on display: Dan Gurney, Peter Revson, Sam Posey, Swede Savage, Vic Elford, George Follmer, and the man (along with team owner Roger Penske) destined to become a Trans-Am icon, Mark Donohue. Remembers racing legend Parnelli Jones, who piloted a Boss Mustang to the 1970 Trans-Am championship: “It was probably the most competitive series I was ever in, because the manufacturers were into it with all four feet. They did everything possible to win on Sunday and sell on Monday. The other thing is…I generally wasn’t what you’d call a natural race driver, but road racing did seem natural to me. It was right up my alley. I really enjoyed Trans-Am.”

As Jones notes, each Trans-Am season was a war won by factory-supported teams: From ’66 to ’71, Ford took three titles, Chevrolet two, and AMC one. And a factory-backed car, the Sunoco-blue Penske/Donohue Camaro Z/28 that won 10 of 13 races in 1968, became the poster car of classic Trans-Am racing (see sidebar).

Yet the original Trans-Am fields included scrappy independent entries, too, cars raced by weekend warriors who cobbled together the funds and the moxie to get out there on the same writhing-hot asphalt as the legends and live their dreams — even if only once or twice a year. One of them is the “1969” Camaro Z/28 you see here. In the summer of 1968, Jack Westlund of Everett, Washington, purchased the car new for street use. Barely 500 miles later, though, the racing bug bit. Along with his son Ken, Westlund soon set about converting his car to A-Sedan specifications; he then raced the Camaro in Regional and National events in the Pacific Northwest throughout 1968. It’s believed Westlund may even have taken part in the 1968 Kent 300 Trans-Am in Washington state, but the history books are murky.

What’s clear are Westlund’s ambitions. For 1969, he wanted to race in Trans-Am events on the West Coast. Hopeful of securing sponsorship from a local Chevy dealer, Jack and Ken updated the Camaro with 1969 bodywork and components. Alas, the money never came through, and Westlund missed the 1969 racing season. (He entered the opening event at Sears Point in Sonoma, California, but did not start.)

Westlund didn’t quit. Determined to race, for 1970 he created his own team, V/J Racing (“J” for Jack and “V” representing his wife’s name, Mary Vee), and updated the car again. He managed to take the green flag for the opening Trans-Am event at Laguna Seca, but retired with a DNF. Then, in his home state’s Kent 200, Westlund finally scored his first finish: 19th. He celebrated with $150 in winnings. Now Westlund was on a roll. At the 1971 Players Trans-Am in Edmonton, Alberta, Canada, he nailed the highest finish of his Trans-Am career: 7th. Westlund duly pocketed the $1400 in prize money, but by now the financial burdens of running a race team — even a sporadic one—were squeezing hard. In December 1971, he put his Z/28 up for sale. Soon the Camaro was gone. But the memories of blasting his cherry-red monster around a racetrack in the same slanting sunlight and acrid dust as Donohue, Follmer, Peter Gregg…Jack Westlund would savor those to his grave.

The Camaro traded hands several times in the 1970s and ’80s, and may have racked up as many as 20 Trans-Am starts (again, the records are unclear) before sitting idle through most of the 1990s. By 2001, though, it was once again on the move. Curt Kallberg of Sisters, Oregon, restored the car to its original V/J Racing vividness, then John Kiland of Henderson, Nevada, took up the driver’s seat, racing the Camaro for several years in Historic Trans-Am — a hugely popular series featuring many of the original star cars of the Golden Era. Finally, three years ago, TA-072 reached the eager hands of its current owner, Steve Link of Laguna Beach, California. Link also races the car in Historic Trans-Am.

“My wife admires the passion,” Link chuckles as his mechanic, Vince Torres, adjusts the Camaro’s suspension in the Willow Springs pits. “I don’t mind getting up at 5 a.m. to do a story like this. Driving this car is just so exhilarating. What could be better than 500 horsepower under your right foot? It’s just a rush. Some guys play golf. But after a 60-hour work week, this is how I like to relax.”

As Link walks me around the car, the limitations mandated by Historic rules (which require competing cars to run to the standards of the day) explain many of the challenges I’d encountered during my first laps. Among them: a single, unpowered master cylinder burdened with delivering all braking force (translation: not much), 15-inch Goodyear Blue Streak Sports Car Special tires with all the grip of a banana peel, and a chassis first developed in the Jurassic Period. Yet the craftsmanship and preparation of Link’s car is conspicuous, exquisite. This Z/28 is like a museum-locked B-17: It’s primitive, hopelessly dated — visibly obsolete. But it’s still a marvel, still commands awe.

Link clearly relishes every one of his machine’s historical charms. “I’ve done five or six races in the Camaro so far, and the enthusiasm for racing these cars just flows through all of us in the Historic series. It’s a fellowship, a fraternity. After races we get together for beer, wine, barbecue. Like any great hobby, it’s a black hole. When asked, I advise never to add it up. It’ll ruin your day!”

The Camaro’s suspension is easily adjustable, and after a half-hour respite to let Torres fiddle with camber, toe-in, and spring settings — and, more important, to catch my breath — I’m back out on the circuit, my ears once again being liquefied by the V-8 artillery bombardment from up front. Immediately, it’s apparent Torres’ ministrations have worked wonders. The Camaro still brakes like a freight train rolling downhill, but now the steering is far more responsive, and the nose almost points where I ask it to go. You’d never confuse this vintage Trans-Am racer with a modern car — a street-going 2013 Camaro ZL1 would be infinitely more nimble around a circuit like this — but there’s a purity and intensity to this machine you’ll find in hardly anything else.

Forget the passage of four decades. This old-school V-8 — with its cast-iron heads and four-barrel Holley — is mind-blowing even today. It spins so freely, the 7500-rpm cutoff seems unfair. Throttle response is instantaneous; heel-and-toe downshifts require the merest tap on the gas to summon a fountain of revs. (The four-speed Borg-Warner Super T-10 is a sweetheart, too.) And that sound! Never mind if my eardrums should be rushed to the E.R. You can hear this car with your hair.

Jack Westlund must have loved being at the epicenter of this blinding-red seismic event — just as Steve Link does today. Probably Mark Donohue himself once blasted past within inches of this open window, held up his hand to signal “thank you for moving over,” and rocketed away. Westlund would’ve smiled at that. Sure, yet again he was being lapped by a giant. But he was out there. Fighting. Sweating. And among them.

ASK THE MAN WHO OWNS ONE

Steve Link, a businessman and consultant, has owned the V/J Racing Camaro for three years. His father, an engine builder for Peter Brock’s BRE race team and NPTI, ensured petrol was flowing in young Steve’s veins early in life. More recently, several of Link’s neighbors in Laguna Beach, California, turned him on to vintage racing. In addition to his Trans-Am car, Link also races a Datsun 510.

WHY I LIKE IT: “I’d seen the Camaro at vintage races and admired it for years. I almost bought another Camaro for sale in San Diego, but when the V/J Racing car came up for sale on eBay, I jumped for it. The car was restored really well. It has a great history. And the guys I race against in the series…it’s just a great group.”

WHY IT’S COLLECTIBLE: “This car doesn’t have the resume — or the price tag! — of the famous factory-backed cars, but it’s still a rare piece with a great story behind it. There are, I don’t know, maybe 75 of these original cars still around today. Maybe 40 of them are active. And not many are in the condition mine is.”

RESTORING/MAINTAINING: “Historic racing is expensive. Race fuel is $12 a gallon. A new set of tires costs $1100 — good for one race and practice at the next one. Race budgets vary, but a race weekend can easily run several thousand dollars. Plus, I pay Vince Torres to work in my shop, keep my cars happy. Proper maintenance and preparation are the keys to success.”

BEWARE: “If you want to run in Historic Trans-Am, you have to provide visual proof [i.e., old photographs] that your car competed in at least four of the original Trans-Am races. No cheaters! Guys might try to pawn off a fake as an original Trans-Am car, but the series does a great job of keeping them out.”

The Golden Era, v.2.0

“In 1979, I found the car languishing in a Southern California garage, where it had been sitting on jackstands for almost 12 years.” Tom McIntyre of Burbank, California, is recalling the moment he found the machine that supersized his racing hobby — and helped create one of the most popular vintage-racing series in America. “The car” was none other than the legendary #6, the Roger Penske-owned, Mark Donohue-driven Sunoco Camaro Z/28 that had obliterated the field in the 1968 Trans-Am season, becoming not only the most successful Trans-Am car of all time, but also the Golden Era’s icon.

“It took quite a bit of time to restore,” says McIntyre. “The body shape had been slightly modified.” Not that he was in any rush. “At the time, there were no other Trans-Am cars around to race against.” But McIntyre, owner of an auto components supplier and a vintage racing veteran, soon set out to change that. “I talked to a guy who was interested in restoring a Boss 302 Mustang. Another guy was interested in a ’68 Cougar. Still other guys had found other old Trans-Am cars. And eventually we all began to say, ‘Gee, if we had enough of these, maybe we could all get together and run around with them.'”

In 1993, Steve Earle, founder of the Monterey Historic Races, allowed the fledgling Trans-Am group to race at his Sonoma, California, event. “We had maybe nine or 10 cars there,” McIntyre remembers, “and together they just made a tremendous sound! The crowd loved it!” On that day was born the Historic Trans-Am Series, held every year since. Soon, racing aficionados across the country were banging on dusty garages and barn doors to find Trans-Am racers of their own.

“Today, we probably have 40 beautifully restored, authentic, original cars racing in the series,” says McIntyre, not only a Historic Trans-Am founder but to this day one of its prime caretakers. And how does McIntyre feel being out there, at speed in his priceless Trans-Am objet d’art (valued well into seven figures), risking all by dicing wheel to wheel with dozens of other screaming Trans-Am machines? “It’s the most exciting thing I’ve ever done. Sure, I could leave the Camaro in a secure, humidity-controlled environment. But that’s not the original intent of this car. I just can’t tell you how it feels…knowing that Donohue’s sweat is in the threads of this seat, to be turning his steering wheel. I just can’t believe how lucky I am. To not race the car would be a sacrilege.”

Asked if he’s ever been tempted to trade his Sunoco-blue beauty for a towering mountain of cash, McIntyre shakes his head. “No. And no plans to sell. But I did promise Roger Penske…if I ever change my mind, he gets the first call.” — A.S.

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